


Poe Rescues the Newest Flyboy From a Shitty Motel in Rakata

by sopdetly



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, M/M, bb-8 is a gps, it's not quite a modern au, just go with it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-30 10:56:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6421009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sopdetly/pseuds/sopdetly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Poe's team made a trade. He has to rescue his newest teammate from a shitty motel. In Rakata.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He can't fuckin' believe he's gotta drive four hours to pick up their newest acquisition. This stupid league, how can it be okay to make a trade and then leave the guy sitting in the hotel with no way to get to his new team? How can that be—? 

Poe takes a deep breath and just shakes his head. "BB-8, how much further is this damn place?"

His car's GPS trills and chirps as it calculates, and on his heads-up display he sees "Destination: 3 miles". 

"Finally. Damn." He shakes his head again, turning on his blinker to take the next right, which is an uncomfortably dark-looking side road. "Where the hell am I, anyway?"

"Rakata," BB-8 tells him.

"Oh, okay." That doesn't tell him shit, but whatever, he doesn't have to stay here long. He's picking up this new guy and they are turning around tonight. They won't get back home in one go, Poe's gonna have to sleep so unless this guy—what the hell is his name, anyway?—unless he wants to take a turn, they'll have to stay over one night. But like hell is Poe gonna stick around in this backwater town. Rakata. Wherever.

"Destination ahead!" the GPS announces, and Poe lets out a sigh of relief. 

"Thanks, little buddy. I'm glad we got to spend this quality time together. You did me right at that diner out past Endor, and I'll always be grateful for how you got me around that clusterfuck outside Jakku."

The GPS just beeps in acknowledgement of Poe speaking.

The hotel is barely more than a motel, but there are still a couple dozen rooms, and Poe has no idea which one he needs to rescue his new teammate from. He hovers his hand over the horn, but then catches sight of the time: 1:23 AM. Right, best not. Poe sighs and kills the motor, getting out of the car and running his hand through his hair as he leans against the side. A bit of a walk to stretch his legs isn't a bad idea. Probably.

There aren't many windows with lights showing through them, and only one is bright enough to be considered the front desk. He slams the car door shut and adjusts his jeans, ambling over to that door. He breathes in deeply, and the smell of snow's on the air. It's late in the season, but there could still be a last storm. He hopes if it's coming soon, it's not coming soon enough to make driving home a pain in the ass.

Poe pulls the office door open, all ready to demand to know where this guy is staying, but the man behind the desk looks tired, and to the right another man jumps outta his seat like he was shocked.

"Dameron?!" he asks, his face hopeful and eager. "Yeah! Poe Dameron! Oh, god, finally!"

Poe is startled, but he tries to hide it. "Um. Yep. That's me. Recognized me, did ya?"

The young man nods like Poe's bobblehead of Skywalker does when they sneak it onto the team bus. "Sure did! You're top scorer for the Flyboys, of course I—" He stops suddenly, taking a deep breath. "Shit. They sent _you_." He shakes his head. "I said I needed a ride out of this place, I didn't, I mean, I expected—"

Poe puts his hand on the man's shoulder. "You needed a driver. Let's get out of here, okay?"

It's hard to see on the man's dark cheeks, but Poe is pretty sure he's blushing. "Yeah. Yeah. Let's go. Let's. Um." He looks over to the bored man at the desk. "Sorry for all the trouble, sir."

The desk-minder just grunts and doesn't look up from his sudoku puzzle book.

Poe tugs on his newest teammate's shirt. "Let's go. I wanna get at least a half-hour back before stopping to sleep. Unless you wanna drive some? It's a manual."

"Oh, um. Never learned manual. Sorry." 

There's not much luggage to carry. They each take a bag and head back out to the car. "That's all right. BB-8 will find us a place to sleep where we won't get murdered."

"Uh. Is, uh. Is murder likely?"

Poe snickers. "Just get in the car, man. Introduce yourself to my GPS." They both get the car, and Poe turns over the engine. "Hey, this is terrible for me to ask, but I didn't really get much instruction other than an address and an order to have you back for game time. So. What's your name?"

The kid's smile is bright, and holds no judgment. "Finn. Finn Troop. Not surprised you ain't heard of me, I've only played in one game, ha."

Poe shakes his hand and smiles. "Poe Dameron. It's good to meet you, Finn. Let's get you back to the base so you can get settled in with the team."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this maaaaaaaaay be continued some day? this isn't a beg for feedback, just honestly letting everyone know that this may be it, or there may be more. WE'LL SEE.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so there's more. Two more parts after this for this story, and then a series may awaken.

"I still can't believe you guys traded Solo. For _me_!" Finn is shaking his head and drumming his hands on his thighs. It's distracting. 

"We'll miss Solo for sure," Poe agrees, but he shrugs. "But that's the breaks. You get older, slower. We're in a playoffs push and I guess they liked your game."

Finn sighs heavily. "Pressure, though, right? Replacing a _legend_ like that?" He looks over at Poe, and from what Poe can see out the corner of his eye, he looks genuinely nervous. "I told you, I only played in one game for the 'Killers."

"I can take you back," Poe says, deadpan, checking over his shoulder like he's ready to make a U-turn. 

"No no no!" Finn slaps his hand on the dash, jostling BB-8 and making the GPS chirp. "Honestly that's an awful organization," he says. "I feel bad that Solo's there now. They're gonna kill him." 

Poe lets out a soft laugh, not much more than a breath with extra velocity. "Old man Solo's fine at handling himself. You just worry about _you_ , okay?" There's a slow car in front of them and Poe doesn't have time for that; he shifts gears, throws on the blinker, and smoothly slides around the reasonable driver who is driving just above the speed limit. "Tell me about your game. Center? Wing? You a playmaker or a goal-scorer? Enforcer?"

Finn coughs a little. " _Not_ an enforcer." He rubs his hands together. "Center. I've played some D, too. I had a lot of assists in the minors. My best line, my two wings? Nines and Zeroes. They lit up the board. We worked real well together. Sometimes they put me with this other guy, called him Slip because he was definitely not the best skater? Ha. Well. I tried a lot to get him goals but he just didn't quite have the knack."

As Finn babbles on about his limited career on the ice, Poe really does try to listen. He does! He enjoys when new players come to the team, and he likes getting to know them. The Flyboys are a tight group, and they embrace their reputation as a bit of a rebellious team, and Coach Organa will expect Poe to have figured out just how Finn can help their line-up by the time they make it back for the game. 

But Finn babbles a _lot_ and maybe gets a bit off topic a few times, and it's starting to rain and Poe hates driving at night in the rain. He hopes it doesn't start freezing to snow. He slows down a little, because wrecking this beauty—and their bodies, of course, of course—would be a very bad thing. 

"Hey, sorry," Poe says, interrupting Finn with an apologetic smile, "but we will have to stop somewhere to sleep."

"I like sleep," Finn says, his voice agreeable and relaxed. 

"Most players do, I find. Anyway, I'll see what we have up ahead." He taps BB-8's side. "Hey, buddy. Any hotels in the next half-hour?" There are burbles and chirps, and BB-8 comes up with a few options, which he displays for them on the HUD. "Any look good, Finn? Troop? Trooper?" He glances over. "They ever give you a nickname at the Starkillers?"

Finn shakes his head. "No. Just Troop. Never really even called me by my first name."

Poe nods. "Well, nicknames are important. For team bonding. Our team is a, a good team for that. We bond well. Us versus Them and all that, you know?"

"Um. Yeah. Sure! Absolutely!" Poe sees right through it and shoots him a glance to let him know. "Hey, I told you. One game. I was in the minors mostly. I don't know, we didn't have much time for fun. For bonding. It was all drills, working out, watching game footage of the 'Killers."

Something inside him softens a bit, and Poe's about to say something when he's interrupted by a sharp trill from BB-8. "Right! Sorry! Hotel." He reaches over and slaps Finn's arm lightly. "Pick out a good spot."

Finn leans forward, inspecting the few options. "None of these look quite... _good_." 

"I have standards set to 'not a crime scene' so they're all safe." Poe's hand comes up, running through his curls. "Don't pick the furthest one. I'm getting pooped." After all, he had a full practice before he was sent off across the damn countryside to rescue this kid.

"Then let's go with the nearest one," Finn says, and Poe's pleased at how decisive he sounds. Always good to have a man who can make a decision on the ice. 

"Take us there, BB-8!" he says, voice grand and gesturing forward as well. The GPS chirps and sets their course, showing an arrival time of 17 minutes. "Okay, that's nice."

There's a bit of silence for a mile or two, and then Finn asks, "It's awful, I know. But, um. Who else is on the team?"

Poe looks at the time—nearly two in the morning, he's exhausted. "Come on, buddy, can that wait for morning?" He smiles. "I promise, I won't let you go in without that info."

Finn nods. "All right." He doesn't wait long, though, before asking another question. "It's Coach Organa, though, right? She's in charge?"

Poe sighs, but then thinks that it's good his new teammate is so interested in the team, that he's not upset about the trade. It could certainly be worse.

"Yeah. Coach Organa. She's tough, but she's smart as hell and knows how to win. Been through enough battles in her own day, knows the job."

"I heard she, um." Finn rubs the top of his head. "Didn't she and Solo...?"

"Yeah, best _not_ to ask her about that. There's history there, tough history for sure. They were on the old Rebels team together, back in the day, won all a few championships. Big back and forth with the Empire Imperials. Remember them?" Poe frowns. "Shit, you probably don't. You're too young."

"Hey, you can't be that much older than me!" Finn protests, squirming in the seat a little.

"Yeah, but my folks always had season tickets to the Rebels. I've seen the holos of games so many times, it's basically like I was there." Poe shakes his head, sent suddenly back home to Yavin, a rainy day watching old holos with his dad, trying to spot Mom with her face pressed against the glass, screaming at Calrissian to shoot the goddamn puck for shit's sake.

"That's...that's nice," says Finn, tucking himself back against the door. The corners of Poe's mouth tick down just a little, but he distracts himself by looking at the trip timer. Just ten minutes to go. He presses the gas pedal a little firmer. 

"Did you watch much hockey as a kid?" he prompts.

"Not really. I was always sent off to camps to play. Part of, um, I think the old Empire's training programs? Sought out kids with certain qualities, you know, tried to train 'em up proper."

Poe made a face. "Is that even legal? You can't be drafted until you're sixteen, though!"

"No no no. I mean, I wasn't training for the 'Killers." He makes a surprise little sound, though. "Well. I guess. Not. Not _officially_?" 

"Yeah, I think it's that 'official' bit that is the sticking point," Poe says. "I doubt they were going to put all that time into training you and then, dunno, let you skip off to the Jakku Scavengers and have you know all their secrets against them!"

Finn clicks his tongue. "But they traded me." 

There's the softest, most secret hint of disappointment in that sentence, and Poe feels his entire being soften like the ice in a Tattooine winter. "Buddy. Come on. Don't take it personal, okay? It doesn't—" 

"Everyone else had nicknames."

Poe allows the interruption, taking a moment to get the context, and then it clicks. "But not you." There's no question, he's finishing the thought with confidence.

"Captain Phasma didn't like when I tried to feed Slip good passes so he could get goals, bring up his numbers."

The name of the Starkillers' captain brings her image to mind, a towering woman as solid as a goalpost, whose eyes stared into you with a cool, grey intensity, just a little shimmer from the lights reflecting on the ice. She was not Poe's favorite defender to find himself facing on the ice.

"What would she rather you do?"

"Take the puck in myself, get the goal. Let him fail and get himself cut." Finn sighs. "He probably shouldn't have been on the team, but...he was one of us." He pulls on his seat belt, holds it away from his chest for a moment, then lets it snap back. "He's still one of them. I'm not."

Poe doesn't know how to respond to that, though this attitude is a little more what he was expecting from a newly traded—and quickly abandoned—hockey player.

"L-look." Poe clears his throat, trying to bring back the more chipper boy who had been doing such a good job in keeping Poe awake. "Trades, you know, they're not about you being a bad player. There are lots of reasons a team might trade someone. Sometimes it's, it's just business!" He reaches over and grabs Finn's hand, giving it a squeeze. "And the fact is, _we_ want you on our team. We looked at your whole team and pointed to you and decided you were what we needed."

Finn's hand is shaking a little, and Poe's not sure if that's from the nerves and emotions of the trade or because some practical stranger's holding it, but he squeezes again and lets his thumb run just a little over Finn's skin, then pulls away. They're turning off the highway, anyway.

"So." Poe clears his throat again, very carefully not looking away from the road. "I hope you'll like the Flyboys. I hope you'll find a home with us."

"Thanks," Finn whispers. 

They don't speak anymore, not while Poe navigates in the harder rain until they finally see the gleaming neon "VACANCY" sign approach.


End file.
